


Burn Ward (Medic x Pyro)

by distasty



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Oral Sex, Rimming, Scars, Teratophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:57:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5308340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distasty/pseuds/distasty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medic finds out the team's Pyro has a serious respiratory infection. Coaxing it into treatment is only the beginning of their relationship, as Medic is stunned to see what lay behind the mask.<br/>More warnings/tags will be added as chapters go up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He knew it was sick.

It was in the way it slouched when it thought no one was looking; the wet sound when it breathed heavily. It took a week before the audible wheezing became evident even when not exerted, and another before the sound of distant coughing began to be heard throughout the base.The sound disturbed Medic from his methodical and careful organization and cleansing of his tools, pushing anger through every vein as the wet distant noise continued to mock him. Sterilizing his neatly lined syringes, he remembered bitterly what had happened in the washroom just a few days prior and cursed when he dropped one of the small cylinders to the floor from the distractions of his musings.

He bent, picking up the larger shards remembering how It too was bent a few days prior. He was in the hall when he heard a thick solid sound strike the tiles of the washroom followed by that familiar damnable coughing. He stuck his head in and saw the red rubbery figure’s back curled forward on one knee, clutching the sink in front of it for dear life. The sound of the wet coughs that struggled through the respirator echoed through the room, as gloved hands instinctively clutched at its throat. When it had noticed it wasn’t alone it looked up and tensed, hands trying to cover a face that was all ready masked, but failing to covering the source of its distress. Medic flinched back in shock and revulsion as strings of mucus and phlegm trickled and bubbled out of the metal ring below its great black eyes with each ragged breath. The horrible thing was drowning on its own phlegm from an ongoing infection that went stubbornly untreated.

Recovering from the repulsion, his reaction was a professional one. Medic quickly and calmly walked to Pyro, and with a firm grip, yanked the thing from the floor onto it’s feet and lead it out the door and down the hall. Pyro, winded from the coughing fit, stiffly complied, until he realised the destination that Medic had in mind.

It was in front of the infirmary where the Medic’s mission came to an abrupt hault. He had not expected the fast left hook to the face that left his grip loose and his glasses shattered. After all, who would have guessed that someone with such a horrible respiratory infection would have the energy to break a nose as well as flee the scene?

The broken nose was easily repaired with the aid of the Medigun, and RED, after countless maimings and “accidents”, had a whole crate of round silver glasses just for Medic. The only thing that could not be readily repaired was Medic’s now frayed pride from the unexpected attack. Unlucky for him and the syringe that the broom now swept up, the coughing only tended to aggravate his “condition”.

While cleaning the last bits of glass from the tiled floors, he sighed. Even without having his nose broken in, his professional side was already disenchanted with how Pyro had “solved” medical problems in the past. He hadn’t been aware it could pick locks until he caught the red rubber bastard elbow deep in his locked medicine cabinet a few months back, taking anything that could be used to treat pain. Wasn’t until a few days later that a written confession stating that it suffered migraines appeared, did Medic relent enough to give Pyro what it needed, but such kindness had since then been worn away. It would take a lot more than passive aggressive letters to gain treatment for whatever it was that going on inside of Pyro’s lungs. While it irritated him on a professional level to have a teammate with an illness, his pride and anger far over weighed any unwanted kindness from Medic.

Glass cleared he went back to cleansing the remaining syringes, still angry, but more focused on the task at hand. So absorbed in his work, he never noticed the sound of gunshots, or the lapse of silence from the coughing until the Scout began to scream.

Scout screaming was nothing new, and typically went ignored by every member of the team. Such had long become routine since the boy had far more attitude than common sense. This often proved to be fatal and damaging in the presence of stronger and less forgiving teammates. When Sniper came knocking on his door, poking his head inside his office, he expected it.

“Doc, ya better come see this.”  
Medic rolled his eyes.  
“Vhat has the little idiot done now?” not even turning to look at sniper.  
“I don’t know. Come down, and maybe you can make sense of this.” 

Grudgingly, Medic followed Sniper down the wooden hall, growing ever closer to the noise. He felt a headache from his temples begin to form as the higher pitches began reaching his ears.  
When they had reached their destination, that same damn washroom, Medic sighed.

Sniper stood back and opened the door wide for Medic to see what awaited him inside and then quietly disappeared when Medic walked in mouth slightly agape.

“Mein Gott...” was all he said in bewilderment. He wasn’t expecting so much blood.

Blood and bits of flesh painted Scout and the opposite wall from where he now sat, still screaming with his hat in his lap, desperately trying to clear chunks of what medic assumed was skin and fat from his hair . Medic turned his gaze to Pyro and grimaced. It had looked like his midsection and chest exploded, leaving a horrible pulpy, exposed organ mess all over the wall and floor. Scout’s scattergun lay in front of Pyro’s body, which made medic turn and face the hysterical boy.

“Stop your whining!!” Medic shouted, the headache worsening by the moment. “Vat did you do, Scout?!”

Scout silenced himself by swallowing hard, trying to grasp for enough air to articulate.  
“I DIDN’T FUCKING DO THIS!” He finally managed, voice cracking and strained, “HE FUCKING SHOT HIMSELF!!”

Medic looked onward to Pyro’s horribly disfigured body and to the tiles on the wall above him. There were two spatters where rock salt had destroyed most of the white tiles and painted the rest in red.

“Vhy is there two shots, if you didn’t shoot him Scout!?”

“FUCK, I DON’T KNOW!” Rage, now replacing the shock as he started to breathe in tempo. “I WAS TAKIN’ A PISS WHILE HE WAS OVER THEAH COUGHIN! WITHOUT A WORD OR NOTHIN, THE FUCKER PICKS UP MY GUN AN’ JUST STARTS FIRIN AT HIMSELF!”  
Scout, with rage in place of hysteria, began to shuck off his shirt into the nearest sink.His hands began to shake when he tried to do the same with his spattered arm wraps. “J-JUST WAIT FOR THE COCKSUCKER TO RESPAWN AND ASK ‘EM.”

“Scout, that doesn’t make sense,why-?!” Medic froze in mid sentence, hyper focusing on that word. 

Respawn.

It would take at least three times longer for the respawn sweep to catch Pyro’s body in the middle of a cease fire, and Medic slowly turned away from the gore and headed towards respawn taking his watch out to estimate how long he had before Pyro returned.

Once there, he sat on the bench and pulled a small silver watch and a small leather case from a coat pocket. He opened it methodically, looking at two large sterile hypodermic needles on one side, and two small ampules on the other. Deftly, he took an ampule, busting the fragile glass to get at the liquid within. He filled both of the needles, setting one on the bench and holding the other in his hand at the ready. He took a quick glance at his watch and began counting to himself. 

5...4…3...2…1….

Respawn 

Pyro materialized.

It had failed to noticed Medic sitting in the corner who now stood, quietly biding his time as it took a moment to register its surroundings and then attempt a long deep breath. The wet struggling was even noticeable through it’s respirator, and the action was deeply regretted as the sick creature buckled forward to its knees in gasping coughs and moist panting. Over its own infected coughing, Pyro did not hear the soft click of jack boots and was not prepared for the larger German suddenly grabbing the back of its neck slamming down into the cold hard tiles below. The coughs grew into hard wheezing as Pyro struggled underneath Medic’s grip which turned into panic gasps when he felt the side of its right thigh erupt in a sting followed by a spreading warmth.

Having pierced the thick suit,successfully injecting tranquilizer into his newly acquired patient, Medic released the smaller man and stepped back. When Pyro tried to get up off the ground to run, Medic gave him a swift kick to the stomach, putting him back on the ground. Now winded, its fight for breath became desperate between long watery coughs. 

“There. We are now even.”  
Medic turned, cordially setting the spent syringe down in his open case and picked up the full. 

He walked back over to pyro who was now on his side, curled up in pain that was accentuated with each eruption of coughs. Looking down at him, he felt a certain amount of satisfaction. 

“Welcome back from re-spawn herr Pyro.” There was a small groan between coughs, which Medic took as acknowledgement of his words. “I must admit, your dedication to ignore proper treatment truly knows no bounds. Was trying re-spawn a rash decision? I somehow doubt it as you selected the smallest weapon with the largest spread available to you and even had the foresight to take out both lungs.” 

He paused to kneel on one knee next to the fallen, making a small clicks with his tongue to feign sympathy. The respirator was flooded with phlegm again, of which the thick discharge began to bubble every time a cough passed through it. Mild disgust ran though the Medic as his mind as it briefly pondered how full the mask must be of its sick.

“If only you knew that re-spawn system made constant copies both in and outside of battle to minimize memory loss in subjects...and that includes biological matter and maladies such as the one you are currently suffering from.” He bent closer, a smile creeping up his lips. “Imagine having all of your internal flora and fauna stripped from you with each death...we would simply be too sick to fight one another as we would all have the immunity of infants. Truly fascinating, don’t you agree?”

He straightened again, focus drawn back to the syringe which he theatrically began to prepare for injection. At the sight of the needle, Pyro’s breath began to wheeze again, panic rising. 

“You have one of two choices, herr Pyro…I have injected you with a reasonably small dose of tranquilizer. At that dose, you will remain lucid but are prevented from lashing out at me with any real strength or running away from me like the stupid child you are.” He gestured to the now prepared needle in his hand.

“Now, I can inject you with a full dose and you will pass out. I will then grab your leg and drag you through the base to medical, and for my troubles I promise you that I will treat your illness in the most painful ways I know how. You will get well, but you will suffer.” He flicked the needle one final time for effect which made the figure on the floor flinch. “However, if you calmly cooperate now, I will help you walk to the infirmary with dignity and I will treat you as quickly and as efficiently so we can both put your foolishness behind us. ”

He bent down, needle at the ready.  
“Now, will you come with me like a rational adult?”

There was silence for a moment, and then a small nod. 

 

**************


	2. Chapter 2

They had made it to the top of the stairs when it fainted.

Medic had not been expecting it and nearly lost his footing when the smaller form he was supporting went limp. Swearing, he slowly dipped Pyro’s body to the ground, propping it against the wall so it would not drown it it’s own excretions. Perhaps he over-estimated the dosage? He doubted that, as he was careful to compensate for its reduced height. He guessed the stairs were too much of a strain on an already compromised respiratory system, a prognosis which matched the horrible sounds that crept through the respirator along with the amount of strain it gave while hauling itself upward. Although he would never openly admit it, he theorized the sedative probably had not helped.

As a final attempt, he bent down and gave the Pyro a hard slap and a forceful shake in hopes it would rouse the pitiful creature. When it remained slack and unresponsive, Medic let out a groan. Despite its small size, Pyro’s weight proved too much for Medic to carry outright, which left him with the dragging option he had threatened mere minutes ago.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, his head-ache arching in a glorious crescendo in response to the situation. He would have some aspirin and a cup of coffee when he made it back to his office. 

Medic bent down and hooked his arms underneath Pyro’s, gripping around its middle tightly and started to pull it through the hall backwards. Rubber soled boots left thick black marks on the wood and emitted a high pitched squeal as they dragged down the hall at an agonizingly slow pace. The sound and the strain did nothing for Medic’s headache and he found himself fantasizing on how to get back at this horrible little creature that was causing him so much trouble.  
Perhaps, after it gained consciousness he would “miss” the vein a couple of times when setting a catheter for an IV? Or maybe abstaining from analgesics altogether though Pyro’s healing process was a sound option? He supposed it would not be impossible to schedule an exploratory surgery and accidentally misplacing some forceps inside his patient because those kind of accidents did happen after all. There were many options to choose from once they made it to there destination and from the sounds of its wretched breathing, he surmised they would be spending a lot of time together in the near future.

So caught up in his lurid fantasies of petty vengeance, Medic failed to notice the large head poke out of an open door he had already passed by.

“Doktor, what are you doing?”

Medic looked up to his bald-headed salvation from his exertions. He let Pyro fall to the ground a bit too hard, a smile forming in spite of his headache. 

“Mein Freund, could you please help me with this?” Asked Medic as a gloved hand gestured at the crumpled wheezing rubber mass at his feet. “Herr Pyro lacked the strength to carry himself to the infirmary I’m afraid, and it is quite difficult for me to drag him there.” 

“Da.” Nodded Heavy, pushing himself from the door frame he was leaning out of. Bending down, he grabbed Pyro and flung the small frame over shoulder like a large sack of flour. “Is because of cough?” 

He looked at Pyro’s slumped over body on Heavy’s shoulder following a step behind Heavy, hate still seething, but soothed at the fact he was no longer dragging dead weight.

“Ja, both myself and the illness finally caught up with it.” 

********

Medic found himself in a peculiar situation.

After a shared cup of coffee and a sachet of powdered aspirin to treat Medic’s affliction, Heavy departed, promised a game of chess later for his troubles. The large man had set Pyro on a propped clean hospital cot, dead to the world, yet ready to be examined by the good doctor. Medic had all of his needed tools, meticulously organized and clean to take measurements, samples and temperatures in a small steel tray next to the bed. 

And it was in this instance, he had the revelation of how little he knew about the thing that lay in front of him and how disquieted such a revelation made him feel.

When the others became ill, there was visual and behavioral comparisons that Medic had come to rely on, but with Pyro there was no such luxury. Much would have to be guessed and assumed which he was not accustomed to in the tight knit group they resided in. He had never seen his patient in the flesh, and before this point had all but personified the caricature that the suit of red latex and the black mask with its glassy staring eyes had created. He would not know if the hue of it’s flesh would be unnatural because of it’s illness, nor if it had lost weight since the infection had set in. Medic frowned, gloved hand instinctively cupped his chin as he looked over his dilapidated patient. Had he ever seen it eat?

He didn’t even really know its gender.

There had been no old medical records to act as some kind of litmus of health, and Medic had never been able to take any records himself. Pyro all but avoided the mandatory visits he induced on the rest of team like the plague, which rendered its medical file barren. It had came to their base medically ready to fight, a fact never questioned until today. The necessary operations and implants needed for his medi-gun and re-spawn to function were not installed by Medic himself, something he had accepted easily, and even appreciated, as there was so many things taking up his time when it had arrived. He remembered asking the Pauling woman for past medical charts when it first arrived on base, and when the files never came, Medic hadn’t complained as there were plenty of willing patients and countless experiments to turn his attentions towards. 

His skin crawled at the oddness of it.  
Who was this in front of him?

He shook his head of thoughts and focused on the task at hand. He could not treat his patient though a barrier of rubber.

His decision on where to begin was made for him when a wet strangled sound from Pyro made a bubble of spittal form and pop on the rim of the respirator. Deft hands quickly unscrewed the wet metal ring in order to remove the filter, most likely flooded, from within. When he got the ring of the outlet valve removed, spittle oozed out of a now black gaping hole. Grabbing a bedpan, he quickly placed it on Pyro’s chest, tilting its head forward allowing a large masses of infection and phlegm to run out freely from the empty hole into the waiting pan. The filter canister was completely absent from the device altogether, removed most likely by the wearer, which probably kept the miserable creature from drowning in its mask. After the mess slowed to a trickle, Medic set Pyro back on the pillows and looked in the pan.

From the rusty coloration of the mucus, it appeared that copious amounts of blood was present, but without further analysis he was unable to tell the origin. He set the pan down next to his tools and decided to begin peeling back the layers for further investigation before such explorations would be met with violence or resistance. 

The shoes were the first to go.  
Medic methodically took off one and then the other. He set the boots neatly at the foot of the bed, and then took off one of its socks which was damp and heavy with sweat. The removal revealed a pale foot, which Medic took in his hands and examined briefly. Wiry hairs covered the tops of its feet and toes. Either it was male or a misfortunate woman suffering from some kind of hormonal imbalance, Medic mused. Even behind his heavy gloves he could feel what was undoubtedly fever and noticed the nails were tinted blue. He set it down and removed the other sock and discarding it on the floor with the other, and quickly checked the other foot making sure it matched its peer. Next came the left glove, discarded into the growing pile. The nails were blue, much like its feet, and Medic removed his own glove to touch the vein in its wrist while the other fished out his pocket watch. 

He silently counted the beats for thirty seconds before setting Pyro’s hand back down on the bed. The count had ended at fifty one. He would use the stethoscope to double check and listen for arrhythmia once its chest was bare, but having a resting heart rate of over one hundred in spite of the sedative did not bode well for its condition. He needed to hurry and remove the suit so it could be hooked up to the heart monitor. He moved to the right side of the bed to discard the remaining glove, and what he saw bare before him made his mouth agape.

Medic stopped, eyes wide and staring in awe. The shocked to what he had uncovered caused his own bare hand to come to his lips to fight off an audible gasp. 

It was in this moment, that all of the day’s previous anger melted into a sick admiration at what lay before him.  
***

Medic was no stranger to medical trauma.

When he was a boy he had an uncle that had survived the first war. A tall amusing fellow that had had an arm lost in the war due to infection. He remembered his uncle teasing and scaring his nieces and nephews by threatening them with the stump, sending children running away screaming and laughing. He was the only child that would remain after the novelty ended, utterly fascinated with what had remained of his arm. He remembered his uncle would let him touch the twisted gash of a scar that was left on the tip and would tell him the story of how he came to lose it so often he had nearly memorized the story verbatim. Unknowingly, his uncle had given him his first lesson of medicine. The smallest problems, when ignored, could result in failure of the whole, and such was morbidly fascinating.  
Medic would not be surprised if it wasn’t for such intimate moments he shared with that man, he would not have gained the passion to become a doctor.

The enthrallment of the body’s ability to repair even after such extreme trauma had ceased to leave him after childhood and such survivors of old maimings were common in the male population of Germany following the war which served as fuel for Medic’s obsession. He still remembered seeing old veterans and new battle tattered soldiers come into the clinic where he was completing his residency, each case unique and endlessly alluring.There was no lack of disfigurement to both study and admire during his early medical years which nurtured a truly strange fixation in the man that ran deeper with each new disfigurement. 

While his team had piped these interests in the beginning of his post with a large variety of deep scars, ancient gunshot wounds, burns, and even a missing eye, the engrossment was but a small echo of the times spent as a young man in Germany treating broken men. Since the development of the medigun, which left everything in it’s wake pristine, further created an abstinence of such perversions for Medic to devel in outside of a few select medical journals which sat innocently among his shelves.

Imagine the surprise when Medic had uncovered the single most scarring on a hand he had ever seen in his career as a doctor.

***

Thick ropes of scar tissue surrounded each digit down to the first palmar plates, encompassing the knuckles and disappearing into the cuff of the rubber suit enveloped Pyro’s exposed hand. The tips of the fingers, majority of the thumb as well as his palms had been spared damage, a telling sign that told Medic the hand had been balled in a fist at impact of whatever had desecrated its skin.The scarring barely missed the vulnerable arteries and veins set in his wrist, which Medic stroked with bare fingers admiringly. It must have been the sparing of this blood giving life line that made the doctor that treated this burn spare the hand from amputation. 

But it wasn’t just the veins that was a marvel, he wondered how the hand itself was spared from onset infection. Once fingers, or any small appendage became damaged this badly, it was hard to keep them from becoming gangrenous. He himself had been forced to sever fingers of patients that had much smaller scale burns brought in at various levels of decay in the past. It was simply amazing that they were seemingly fully functional.

He bent all the fingers into a fist, a low hum of appreciation rumbled in the back of his throat as he did so. In defiance of the heavy scarring, the hand’s flexibility was practically profound. He could see no obvious evidence of contracture in any digit, nor any abnormality of movement in the wrist. He wondered how many hours of stretches, aches and pains it had to endure to regain such a natural range of movement.

Wet gurgling brough Medic back from his engrossment. He suddenly remembered the words “fever” and “tachycardia” and set his fascinations aside for the moment to focus on his task. He set down its hand and begun again removing articles from the suit once again. Pyro’s harness, as well as its bandolier were absent as was its custom during ceasefire. The belt remained, which Medic made quick work of in spite of how his fingers trembled. He grasped the heavy zip and he pulled it down slowly holding his breath in anticipation of what other treasure he would find. 

He let out a shuttering breath and a disquieting smile at what lay underneath.  
First, “it” was undoubtedly male.  
The skin on the right side was just as pale and pristine as its feet had been with patches of reddish blonde terminal hair creeping from his groin to his chest. But the left side…  
A dense entanglement of thick scars flowed from the left hip coming upwards, where it spread out onto the torso. Not quite cresting his left pectoral, the scars continued running up to left side of his neck and further up into the mask. So raised and discolored was his disfigurement that the scars appeared to be a twisted crag filled dam holding back a pale sea of flesh. Medic shook his head, knowing that he had already wasted too much time with such thoughts, but could not help but stare.

He sat Pyro up, peeling away the rubber suit to free his arms from the material. While set up, he put on his stethoscope. Before setting the disc to flesh, Medic took note of his back. What should have been clear pale skin was defaced with long squarish sheet that began at the shoulder and ended at the waist. Medic marveled and ran a hand over what he believed to be an old harvest site for some kind of skin graft before putting the cold disc of the scope to bare skin in order to listen to the right lung. Even without his patient giving controlled deep breaths nor the creation of percussion around the lung, the whistling and crackling sounds of fluid and obstruction was unmistakable. He moved the scope into the left side for a listen, not surprised when it mirrored the right. He would need to give Pyro an x-ray to see what lay inside later.

He set Pyro back and took his right arm, setting a blood pressure cuff and his stethoscope along the vein to insure accuracy. He got a quick reading, which was very low. He was now certain Pyro had passed out due to the sedative. His blood pressure must have already been low due to the illness, and when the injection fully kicked in, it caused the pressure to bottom, knocking him out cold. He took the cuff off and walked to the foot of the bed to be rid of the suit.

He grabbed the cuffs of the pants, slipping the feet through before roughly yanking the rubber suit free of it’s owner. He took the suit and threw it with the rest of the removed articles. All that remained was gray cotton drawstring pants; it was the bottom piece of a standard issue for what RED considered sleepwear. Judging from his manner of dress, Medic wondered if he had woken up with the high fever and hurriedly put on his suit to try out re-spawn. From the way his spoiled shoulder reddened at its apex, it seemed clear that the scar tissue was not accustomed to the bare contact and friction of the suit.

Medic paused at that word again.

Respawn.

Pyro had tachycardia even after being given a sedative. With his heart in such a state, it was very possible that Pyro could have had a non-intentional visit to re-spawn in the night. The reset would have corrected any failed or organ damage caused by pyrexia and would temporarily clear inflammation enough for a person to feel “better” before relapsing rapidly back to a highly fevered state. The change of internal temperature would undoubtedly cause whatever illness that lurked inside to bloom, which in turn could create a higher fever. 

Medic stripped off Pyro’s remaining clothes which were fouled with sweat, and threw them to the pile. He then gently set Pyro on his side and unceremoniously inserted a thermometer rectally. After three minutes, Medic removed it and read the results before propping Pyro back.

With a fever of 105 °F, low blood pressure, and elevated heart rate, there was enough knowledge to begin basic treatment. He left his exposed patient briefly to get what was needed for an antipyretic injection for fever as well as grabbing a bag of intravenous fluids to replace what Pyro had passed as sweat. He put various phials, ampules and the saline bags on a small tray before walking back towards his patient. 

Since the use of intravenous fluids would involve putting delicate long sharp implements into Pyro’s veins and because Medic was certain escape and panic would be fresh on his patient’s mind after regaining consciousness, the good doctor also got out some well loved leather medical restraints that he was sure would be needed.

***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this installment taking a little longer. I'll try to get the next chapter out a little faster next time.  
> Thanks to all that sent me love and encouragement. I honestly would not have continued this without your appreciation <3  
> Also looking for a proof reader to catch my blundering mistakes. Send a message my way at distasty@gmail.com if you would like to help me clean up this hot mess.

***

It had taken a few minutes to set up, but with Pyro’s feet and wrists bound to the harsh stainless steel rails of the bed, Medic knew it was time to tackle the last remaining piece of coverage on his patient’s person so the real treatment could begin.

Bare trembling fingers touched fevered skin, moving up and underneath the thick rubber on the back of his neck. Medic attempted to peel the mask off like a second skin, at first with care which slowly ebbed into rough disregard when it refused to come off under tender ministrations.

With a grunt and one last violent pull, the whole came free revealing a sight the likes of which Medic had no words for.  
A combination of spit and bloody phlegm, finally free of its dark prison ran down Pyro’s neck and chest in a thick oozing torrent, which at first, sent a wave of revulsion through him. But the disgust was quickly turned to reverence and utter shock when he looked up to Pyro’s face for the first time.

From his cheeks upward, Pyro’s head, which had been shaved, and was sprouting a fine crop of red hair had been spared damage along with the whole of the right side of his body. The unmarked skin was pouring sweat, which now released, combined with the mess that the mask had unleashed. The left side, beginning from his cheekbone downward, looked to be constructed from a mass of thick scars, much like his hand and arm. But unlike the rest of his scarred body, his lower jaw was completely mutilated from what could only be described as complete surgical failure. A sizable chunk of the left side of the jaw ceased to be, and from the silent cues of the remaining tissue, Medic believed it had been surgically removed, leaving a large gaping hole where a cheek and jaw should have been. The hole left his patient’s upper molars and what appeared to be a fully intact tongue exposed to the air, with no cheek, bottom teeth or jaw to protect the left side of his face. With so many numerous suture scars all around the grotesque cavity, the obvious initial intention was not to leave the inside of Pyro’s mouth open to the elements. He concluded the ghastly cavity to be a side effect of either the rejection of skin grafts or damaged portions succumbing to infection which then had to be removed. Medic thought back to the large grafting sites along Pyro’s back and wondered how many times grafting was tried on his patient’s face, taking a deep shuddering inhale of breath. He could not understand how this man could have survived such extensive derangement.

He looked to the mask in his hand and stared at the odd custom molded interior, feeling a certain amount of perverse excitement realizing it doubled as a team mate’s prosthesis. It was made to be a surrogate for the section of jaw that had been lost, Medic noted as his thumb ran over a small outcrop of rubber which undoubtedly was there to act as a resting place for Pyro’s exposed upper molars. The rubber innards of the mask was cupped and molded to fit tightly against his damaged face in order to dam back saliva and anything else from escaping into the filter.

The design was both ingenious and horribly flawed; if positioned correctly to maintain the seal, surely it would render the jaw practically immobile, and if one could not operate the jaw, one could not easily use their mouth to breathe. The image of Pyro bent over in the bathroom loomed in his mind, realizing it was not only contending with a cough, but with what must have been a constant fight to draw breath since his sinuses were all but useless with the mask further compounding its tortured breathing. With that in mind, doubled with the fact it seemed to constantly pass of phlegm, Medic marveled at the simple fact the creature hadn’t drowned it its own secretions. 

Such thoughts brought Medic back to the mess that had come from Pyro’s mask. He quickly took a rag and mopped up the filth and when clean, he continued his work and hooked up pads which fed into the heart monitor that seemingly came to life on contact. Afterwards, an IV port was fitted deftly into Pyro’s right arm in order to begin the necessary replacement of fluids to combat the dehydration and to feed any later injections into his patient that he may need later. All that remained was the actual treatment, and since the doctor was quite certain of Pyro’s infliction. With the blueness of his patient’s nails and what remained of his lips, the increased heart rate and temperature paired with the passing of bloodied phlegm, he was confident its miseries was result of bacterial pneumonia. He loaded a needle with antibiotics, and quickly injected it though the port to combat the disease that his technology had unwittingly nurtured.

Due to the healing qualities of both the medigun and the repeat processing through respawn, there was no telling how long the ailment had persisted. The next step for Medic would be to take x-rays to help see the the biggest problem areas so he could surgically remove blockages and relieve some of the stress on Pyro’s respiratory system. Since any damage to the body was quickly set back to normal using his medi-gun technology, it essentially reset any tissue damage as well as inflammation forcing a state of “good health” in spite of the presence of a severe infection, which was going to make the job difficult. Once inside, Medic would be facing pristine healthy tissue under the medi-guns rays. Normally this was welcomed, but in the presence of infection, he would not be able to rely on inflammation or discoloration to guide his hand to areas in need of cleansing.

It was because of his technology that Pyro was in his condition, a notion endlessly fascinating to Medic, whom had not foreseen such issues. Pyro’s body had responded in doing the only thing it could do since it was constantly being mended and repaired in spite of the disease: it made as much phlegm as possible to clear the infection from his lungs, produced the horrible coughing that had haunted the base and lastly, when those two things failed to work, he suspected Pyro began to die from hypothermic cardiac arrest when fever would come on suddenly and violently after his respawned body noticed the contagion. Since he had been in every skirmish since the coughing began, each death would have reset the body’s fight with the illness, creating a cycle of lapses in immune response that would have fostered his illness, allowing it to grow and take more and more foot holds until it had reached the critical point that it was now at.

Medic had imposed constant check-ups on the team and because of which, nothing of this magnitude had ever occurred. There was a large part of him that was fascinated to see and study how his technology had nurtured an illness. He wished he could have known if it had started as a simple cold that grew into something much more sinister when re-spawn was introduced, or if his patient came to work for RED unknowingly infected with walking pneumonia or some such other ailment. His scientific side lusted to know and it made him mournful that it was not likely he would ever learn when the contagion took hold or from where it was contracted. But, with a patient as physically unique as Pyro who was suffering from a rather interesting biological flaw with the respawn system , it was not hard to shed such irritations in the wake of his enthusiasm over the scientific implications Pyro’s condition had presented.

The next step was to wheel Pyro back to his small makeshift operating theater where under the soothing red glow of his medigun, Pyro would be kept alive while he cracked open his patient’s chest to clear his lungs of phlegm. He was excited to witness both the extent of the infection, gain samples for cultures as well as syphon obstructions from his airways. This was important, so his patient would not drown while the body’s immune system could grow, swell and stave off infection as it normally would. It had been a while since the job had produced such promising material to better perfect his medigun. He knew the night would be a long and laborious affair, but with such an endlessly interesting specimen, he couldn’t help but feel elated at the work ahead of him.

****

It had taken several hours of small incisions coupled with the syphoning all manner of detritus from his patient’s unnaturally pink and healthy lungs despite the severity of the pus and phlegm within before Medic was done. He relied on using x-rays to guide his hand, but still did small incisions from time to time looking for infection to remove, and more often than not, he found obstructions with his explorations. In spite of the difficulty, Medic was pleased with the result of the thoracotomy and considered it a success.

He had long since put Pyro, still under restraint, to rest in one of two private recovery rooms in his infirmary. In actuality, there were three rooms side by side used for the purpose of recovery, but the one in the middle Medic had outfitted as his own quarters when Red had stationed. Because of necessity of being within close proximity of his recovering patients, he had concluded it would be much more convenient to simply stay within the confines of the infirmary. It was smaller than that of the rest of his team’s living arrangements, but he made due with using the small office area to house his medical texts along with a large repurposed resupply locker to hold his field equipment during ceasefire.

Medic was in the process of putting away cultures he had extracted from his patient’s lungs when the brunt of the day’s stress began seeping down Medic’s frame. With the high from the reveal his patient’s face and the surgery waning, Medic felt the stiffness in his shoulders and a pain in his gut and noted from the clock on his office wall. His infirmary and office lacked windows of any kind, and the sun, which had been quite high when his business with Pyro began had long since left the sky. Dinner had likewise passed quite some time ago, and knowing his team, the possibly of remains were slim. He stretched, popping his neck and removed his soiled gloves before returning to a deep steel sink to wash his arms and his face. Now clean, he retreating into his office where Medic hoped he had something edible stashed in his desk.

Upon entering, he was greeted with a sight that made him smile. A large sandwich sat on a plate, covered in a cellophane prison awaiting Medic to find it. He sat down, tearing into the plastic to devour the gift before him. For the second time that day, he was grateful for the Russian and vowed to pay back the kindness when the chance presented itself relishing each bite with elation and praise for the man whom had taken the effort to leave it.

Having made quick work of the meal, he leaned back tired and contented, a small smile resting on his lips allowing his mind to wander to thoughts of the man asleep in the other room. He had put on a respirator over Pyro’s nose and mouth only to have it slowly flood with spittle from the gaping hole that was once his face. To solve the problem he had improvised. Using medical tape and an empty sterile iv bag he had cut to size, he was able to rudely patch the damage in order to hopefully keep the apparatus dry through the night.

His eyes fluttered shut at the memory his mind had etched of the clear plastic of the patch becoming clouded with Pyro’s breath, and the contrast of the white tape against the discolored hypertrophic scarring of his patient’s face. He hadn’t the luxury of fawning over the sight at the time he witnessed it, but now in the silence of his office, he could feel his blood rise at making his starched collar itch at his throat and his tie far too tight as his thoughts wandered. He sighed, as his mind turned his patient’s disfigurements into lurid fantasies of exploring uneven blotchy skin which bled to pristine white flesh. The mere thought of the shock of transition was enough to make Medic crave a more private location.

He wasted no time and quickly retreated to his quarters, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the collar of his shirt as he went. With one swift motion, he locked the door behind him where he set his tie upon the frame of his rather meager bed before pulling his shirt over his head.

****  
If there was one benefit that could be had to having the smallest room on base without contest it was the fact that all recovery rooms were outfitted with full private bathrooms outfitted with large ceramic tubs complete with shower attachments. Medic reclined in the tub, curtain drawn with a hot rain falling upon his nude body. It was one of the few indulgences he often allowed, and now, enveloped in the warmth and sound of the water and being embraced by the smooth walls of the tub, his eyes shut allowing for his imagination to run rampant with thoughts of his patient.

Through the haze of racy imagery, his mind eventually focused on Pyro’s face, wondering how much control the man still had of what was left of his jaw. He had seen photographs of a man in one of his medical journals that lacked the frenulum on his tongue which caused the organ to protrude from his mouth at unnatural lengths. The memory supplied the ammunition for his fantasy, making Medic lean his head leaned back while his hands began to work on his stiffening member.

He imagined piercing blue eyes looking up from between his thighs as an unnaturally long tongue caressed hardened flesh lovingly. It curled around the base, slowly pulling up until it came to rest at the tip where precum had begun to gather. He gave the head slow lick, making the doctor shudder in response while his own thumb mimicking the motions inside his mind’s eye. Pyro’s eyes met his own one last time before closing to swallow Medic’s length to the hilt, causing a moan in the back of his throat and the tempo of his trembling hands to tighten around himself, increasing their tempo.

He imagined the sounds of the defilement as Pyro would try to suck; an impossible task through a broken mouth, the effort making the act loud, wet, and all the more perverse. Such tangents made Medic’s legs quake and his urgency grow. Quickly, the fabrication devolved to images of face fucking, and with it, the quickening of Medics forceful self-ministrations. When thoughts flicked to how spittle from pyro’s jaw would run in torrents down his thighs in spite of the violent obstruction ramrodding down his throat, and how the sounds would become deafening as he forcefully plunged himself inside over and over, Medic’s desperation began to grow thick and pained.

So close.

He imagined those eyes again; Pyro’s scarred hand replacing its mouth, continuing a frenzied pace while Pyro’s face pulled into a jagged one-sided grin before dipping lower. That long tongue grazing his testicles slowly, but not lingering as it continuing dipping downward. Medic felt a single gentle caress around his ass, right before violently penetrating the orifice and its depths in one fast, violent motion.

Medic curled forward, ramming fingers inside himself a little too hard, making him cry out and finally slip into that familiar and craven sweet abandon. It had been a little too long since he felt the need for release, and the hard violent throes of orgasm that coursed through him left him shaking, incoherent and blind. His body pulled in on itself impossibly tight while the sensations overflowed and became too much to take.

Slowly the feelings ebbed and Medic opened his eyes back to the reality of his surroundings. The sounds of the hot running water soothed as he came down, and already the evidence of the whole affair had been rinsed away. He waited until his heart stopped hammering in his chest and for his breath to slow down before slowly standing to wash, feeling very tired but more satisfied than he had felt in a long while.

*****


End file.
